Page 23 of Top Dog

“No. White milk.”

“Orange juice, please.”

Enrico chuckled over at the kitchen table as I shook my head. I flipped the omelet I made for my son every morning before I slid it onto a plate. Stefano had offered my son and me the chance to stay with him until things between our families settled. My father’s estate I had been at for the past six years was large and empty, and I honestly didn’t want to go back to it. My father’s death was what brought us back into the city, but when we left to go back, the house seemed way too big. It was only myself, Enrico, and my son, and the sprawling estate felt like too much. The ghost of my father and his anger toward my affair with Romeo haunted it, and I was putting off going back as long as I could.

; So I jumped at the opportunity when my uncle offered for us to stay with him in the city for a while.

“Something smells good in here. Can I place an order?”

“Morning, Uncle,” I said with a smile. “You want an omelet?”

“You frying up bacon with that omelet?”

“I can even stick it in one for you,” I said.

“Then sign me up. And in return, I’ll cook dinner tonight.”

“Uncle Stef!”

Matteo came running into the room and ran straight into the man’s arms. Enrico peeked out from behind his newspaper and watched the interaction closely. He knew how I felt about Matteo getting so close to a man who ran the largest criminal empire in the entire state. I was trying to be as cool as I could be about it, but I knew Matteo was craving that male attention. My father’s death had been so hard on him. “Come. Sit. Tell me how you slept,” my uncle said.

“Awesome. I like having a TV in my room.”

“You do, huh?” my uncle asked. “Was there anything good on?”

“Cartoons!”

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.

“Two eggs or three?” I asked.

“Three. And double bacon. And none of those vegetables you talk about.”

“I’m shocked you’re still walking,” I said with a grin.

I slid Matteo’s omelet across to him before I poured him a glass of orange juice. Then I got to work on Stefano’s eggs. Enrico was easy to please in the morning. Black coffee and toast with melted pads of butter on it. That was all he wanted. I wasn’t a large breakfast eater, either. I might stand in the corner sometimes and eat a bowl of cereal, but that was about it.

I preferred large family dinners after everyone had wound down their day.

“How’s my niece?” Stefano asked as he kissed the side of my head.

“Tired,” I said.

“Not sleeping well?”

“Just having some dreams,” I said.

“Want to talk about them?”

“No,” I said. “I miss my father is all.”

Stefano reached out to rub my back as I held back tears.

“Does he talk to you in your dreams like he does me?” he asked.

“You dream about him as well?”